We’ll always have Paris
he said when he left 
the chop of propellers and promises 
ringing in her ears, her hat flew
off her head towards the runway,
a ravaging wind and the dark night
of no stars.

We’ll always have the lake house
he said as he tried to tighten the grip
around her hand, his voice
almost invisible now.

We’ll always have those grand sycamores
where we tied Aunt Jayne’s old hammock,
rocked together under a lush green canopy,
fragrance and time never ended 
that summer.  

What is wrong with you mother fuckers?
You’ll always have?
We got weather, an environmental crisis,
constitutional crisis, social injustice,
a pandemic—people standing up for 
their rights not to wear a mask, 
lots of dead people.

We’ll always have?
We’ll always have?